The KSCA nets carried a different weight that afternoon, not because of noise or numbers, but because attention itself had thickened. Coaches stood closer than usual, conversations ended sooner, and even the air near the pitch felt measured.
Rudra sensed it before he understood it.
A black SUV rolled in quietly beyond the practice area. It stopped without urgency, as if timing itself adjusted around it. When the door opened, a boy stepped out who did not look around for permission or reassurance.
Varun Khanna walked in as if he had already been here many times.
His kit was clean, his movements economical, and his expression carried a calm certainty that did not need to announce itself. He did not scan the ground for familiar faces or stare at the nets with curiosity. His eyes went straight ahead.
Someone near the benches murmured his name, not with excitement, but with acknowledgement.
Rudra watched from the side net, helmet off, sweat drying slowly at his temples. There was no jealousy in him, only assessment. This was what the other side looked like—the side that did not grind its way upward but arrived early, already shaped.
Coach Raghav clapped once, the sharp sound pulling everyone back into order.
"Pair up," he said evenly. "Today isn't only batting."
The boys moved quickly. Then Raghav's gaze stopped on Rudra.
"Take a ball," he said.
Rudra hesitated only long enough to listen.
"A good batsman," Raghav continued, "must understand bowling—release, angles, rhythm. A great batsman learns respect for the ball itself."
Rudra nodded and stepped forward.
The ball felt unfamiliar in his palm, heavier with purpose than during casual throwdowns. He set a short run-up and focused on keeping his arm straight and his wrist relaxed.
The first delivery landed harmlessly short, dying on the pitch.
No reaction followed. No correction. No praise.
Rudra bowled again, adjusting instinctively. The ball landed fuller this time, straighter, carrying intent even without pace.
The system surfaced without sound.
[ NEW SKILL DETECTED — BOWLING FOUNDATION ]Status: UnrefinedCondition: Observation + Repetition Required
Raghav gave a single nod. That was enough.
"Switch," the coach said.
Varun walked in to bat without ceremony. No shadow swings. No exaggerated routine. He marked guard once and looked up.
The bowler delivered.
On the very first ball, Varun stepped forward, and the movement was so precise it looked rehearsed by time itself. His front foot landed perfectly, his elbow rose naturally, and the bat face met the ball with effortless authority.
The cover drive rolled along the ground like it belonged there, threading cones and finding space without force.
Silence settled over the nets.
Rudra stood still, the ball resting against his thigh. That single shot did not boast or demand attention. It simply existed, complete and undeniable.
Varun tapped his bat once on the crease, as if nothing unusual had occurred.
Rudra felt the pressure register—not as fear, but as clarity. This was not a gap created by laziness or arrogance. It was a difference in starting lines. Varun had begun far ahead. Rudra was still building his road.
Coach Raghav's voice broke the moment.
"Rudra," he said calmly, "you're bowling to him next."
Rudra closed his fingers around the ball.
It felt heavier now, not because of doubt, but because meaning had been added.
As Varun settled back into his stance, eyes steady and unbothered, Rudra understood something crucial.
Batting alone would not be enough anymore.
To bridge this distance, he would need to learn the game from the other side of the pitch.
He took his mark.
And somewhere between the run-up and release, Rudra realized the next phase of his journey would not begin with a shot—
But with a delivery.